


A Robe By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2k17 [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dreams, Fluff, Hugs, Love, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together, This is the Most Innocent Thing I Have Ever Written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 09:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10303106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: A missing scene from the night Ed tells Oswald he'd do anything for him. However did Oswald end up wearing that robe again the following morning?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another quick thing for nygmobblepot week. I've had so many explanations as to how Oswald got the robe back and this is the fluffiest scenario I could dream up while still preserving canon.

“You can always count on me,” Ed says. Oswald folds him into an embrace.

“Thank you,” he says, and he can’t stop smiling. The hug is long, and tender. Ed hooks his chin over Oswald’s shoulder and he marvels at how well they fit together, the outcome unexpected but welcome. He doesn't want to let go, pulling Ed tighter to him, fingers digging into the robe.

Ed coughs, and Oswald jerks back. “I’m sorry, please, you should finish the tea.”

Ed picks up the cup and takes a small sip, “That was nice. And so is the tea.”

Oswald laughs, ducking his head and blushing. “I never pegged you for a hugger.”

“I don’t tend to think of you in that way, either,” Ed replies impishly, peering at him over the lip of the cup.

“Well, there’s more where that came from,” Oswald jokes, running a hand across Ed’s shoulders. He slots Ed under his arm, holding onto his right shoulder and keeping them pressed together while Ed finishes his tea. There’s a small smile on his face, letting Oswald know the gesture is not unwelcome.

“Did your mother hug you often?” Ed asks quietly. Oswald is startled by the question, but mostly he feels a little nostalgic.

“She did. They were very comforting... I miss her every day.” Ed nods.

“You give very good hugs,” he says, “You must have learned that from her.” Oswald feels something warm in his chest at the idea that his mother has somehow passed that skill onto him; it makes him feel closer to her, to her memory.

“Thank you,” he says instead, squeezing Ed’s shoulder. “You should probably get some rest, it’s been a long night.”

“You’re probably right,” Ed concedes, taking one last sip of the tea and leaving the empty cup on the saucer. He stands, dislodging Oswald’s arm and then offering him a hand up off the couch. Oswald accepts, letting Ed pull him to his feet. Ed coughs, then steps away, dropping his hand.

“Shall we?” Oswald says, offering Ed his arm. Ed takes it, allowing Oswald to lead him to his quarters. Oswald is only a few doors down, anyway. It’s no trouble.

“Your mother raised a wonderful son as well,” Oswald ventures. Ed doesn’t speak of his parents, but Oswald has been dying to know more. He doesn’t want to pry, but when the opportunity arises he’s not above subterfuge. Ed laughs meanly.

“Well, she might have, but it wasn’t because she hugged me, that’s for sure.” He shakes his head as if trying to dislodge something.

“Oh? So she wasn’t particularly affectionate?” Oswald presses.

“Not in the slightest,” Ed answers, his voice carefully monotone. Oswald decides that’s enough digging for one night, he wasn’t particularly thrilled about the answer anyway. It’s given him some unhappy insight into Ed’s childhood.

They reach Ed’s door, and Oswald releases his arm. He pulls Ed into another hug, burying his face into his father’s robe. Ed sighs and melts into him, hands tentative on Oswald’s back.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Oswald says, pulling away and holding onto Ed’s biceps as he tilts his head back to speak to him.

“Good night, Oswald,” Ed says, turning and opening the door to his room before disappearing inside.

Oswald makes his way into his own room, undressing and getting into his nightclothes. He slips under the cover and closes his eyes. He waits.

And waits.

He rolls over.

And waits.

He sits up and clicks on the light which rests atop his nightstand, pulling out a book. He gets through a chapter and tries again to sleep.

And tries.

Oswald’s thoughts return to Ed. Was he okay? Was he sleeping alright? Could the memory of Butch’s hands around his throat be keeping him up the same way it was keeping Oswald up?

It’s two in the morning now. Perhaps he should check in on him. Friends did that for each other, didn’t they? He swings his legs off the bed and pushes his feet into a pair of slippers. Just a quick check-in to make sure Ed’s alright. 

_And reassure myself_ , a part of him admits.

He has no robe to wrap around himself, but his pajamas aren’t exactly scandalous. Oswald walks down the hall and quietly opens Ed’s door. He’s sitting up in bed with the lamp on, book in hand. Ed’s no longer wearing his borrowed robe, instead it’s draped neatly over a nearby chair.

“Ed?” he calls, drawing Ed’s attention to him.

“Oswald? Come in, what are you doing up?” Ed puts the book down and pats a spot on the bed next to him.

“Couldn’t sleep. I wanted to check in on you, see how you’re holding up.” It’s not a lie, exactly.

“Ah, yes. I am finding myself preoccupied by tonight’s events…” he says, trailing off vaguely.

“What Butch did to you would rattle anyone,” Oswald assures him.

“Butch?” Ed asks, seeming confused. “Oh, oh yes. Of course. You’re right, that’s- erm- that’s exactly why I can’t sleep.” Ed shifts nervously next to him.

Oswald can tell when a skilled liar is deceiving him, and Ed is very unskilled. Clearly Butch isn’t what’s keeping him up… had Oswald somehow made him uncomfortable with his multiple displays of affection? Ed had enjoyed the hug, he’d said so himself. There must be something else, some other angle he isn’t considering, but for the life of him he can’t think of what it may be.

Ed’s always been something of a mystery to him, though. Oswald decides to let the obvious lie slide. Ed would tell him if it was important.

“Would you like me to stay with you?” Oswald asks hopefully. If Ed agreed to let him sleep here tonight he has no doubt he’ll sleep like a log. Having Ed next to him, alive and _breathing_ , will be enough to lull him to sleep.

“ _Yes_ ,” Ed says emphatically. He coughs. “If you wouldn’t mind, that is,” he adds in a softer tone.

“Scoot over,” Oswald says, peeling back the covers. It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed, but it’s the first time since Oswald went to Arkham. It seems like ages ago now.

Ed moves over, pulling pillows from behind him and handing one to Oswald. He takes off his glasses and leaves them on the bedside table. Ed lays down on his side, facing Oswald, who mirrors him.

“I’ll look over you,” Oswald says, “go to sleep.” Ed’s lips part, something warm in his eyes. He reaches a hand out, cupping the side of Oswald’s face and leaning in. Oswald pulls him in close, hugging Ed tightly to his chest. Ed pushes his face into the crook of Oswald’s neck and shoulder, hiding his face. He sighs loudly. Oswald perceives it to be a sign of contentment, but in truth that’s only a very small part of it.

Ed pulls away after some time, and Oswald finally catches a glimpse of his face. He looks disappointed... but that can’t be right.

“Good night, Oswald,” Ed says solemnly. Oswald’s chest feels tight. He had come to comfort his friend, not upset him further.

“Sleep well,” he says, at a loss for anything else to say. Oswald closes his eyes, and with Ed beside him he drifts off in mere minutes. 

In his dreams, his mother is there.

“I found someone,” he says.

She takes his hands in hers and kisses his cheeks.

“They are good to you?”

“He nearly died for me,” Oswald says, and he almost can’t believe it’s true.

“Then he is good man, don’t let him get away, my little Cobblepot.”

“I think I love him,” Oswald tells her, and her hair is glowing with light from a sun he can’t see.

“You know what I would have you do, handsome boy, do not forget what mother taught you.”

“I won’t,” he swears, and the light intensifies. He blinks against it and open his eyes.

Morning.

He stretches, fleeing from the patch of sunlight hitting his eyes.

Oswald looks over Ed, still curled close to him in the same position he last saw him. Ed must have fallen asleep quickly as well. He looks younger, peaceful. The soft morning light gives his skin a warm glow and smooths the lines of his face. His mouth is open, drool pooling endearingly on his pillow.

Oswald carefully slips out of bed, scribbling a note on the table. It’s unlikely he’ll fall back asleep and even less likely he’ll sleep soundly, and he doesn’t want to wake Ed. Most importantly, he wouldn’t want Ed thinking he left him alone in the night. 

_Didn’t want to wake you, see you at breakfast._ Short and to the point.

He puts on his slippers, then hesitates. He turns back, leaning over the bed. Ed looks so sweet like this. Oswald leans over the bed, pausing as he nears Ed’s face. He closes his eyes and presses a barely-there kiss to Ed’s temple, baby hairs sticking to his dry lips as he pulls away.

His heart is racing with fear and adrenaline; he can’t believe he just did that. Oswald shakes himself off. Now there was only the small matter of telling Ed he _loves him_. Oswald doesn’t know how he’s going to manage that when a gentle, chaste kiss to Ed’s temple has him dizzy.

Oswald heads back for the door, pausing by the desk. Shrugging, he pulls his father’s robe on. Ed has his own, he’ll be fine. As the robe encompasses his frame, he picks up Ed’s scent, wondering at how the very essence of his love is now embedded into the fabric of one of his most prized possessions. The significance bolsters him, gives him new resolve. 

It’s a beautiful morning. He wants to tell everyone he sees how utterly in love he is with Ed, wants to shout it from the rooftops of Gotham like he once had when he became its King.

That can wait, of course. He needs to tell Ed, first. Then again, there’s nothing keeping him from telling someone who doesn’t even understand English, he reasons. Surely that doesn’t count? 

He leaves the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind himself. Oswald resolves to tell Olga all about it. He needs to tell someone, _anyone_ , and there’s no harm in confessing his feelings to a housekeeper who won’t even be able to understand him, much less use the information against him. Or worse: tell Ed before he can.

Happy with his choice in confidant, he practically skips to breakfast, yellow sunlight pouring into the manor to match his mood. He hasn’t felt a spring in his step like this since before Fish crippled him. Love almost makes the pain lessen, he notes in amazement. What couldn’t he and Ed accomplish together? 

He hums a song and settles into his seat at the table, ringing a little bell to signal the help.

A beautiful day, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this from Ed's point of view it's actually pretty heartbreaking so... not so fluffy. But Oswald is on cloud nine and it's from his point of view so it counts! -points finger- You were fooled, ha ha ha ha! Comments give me life as my illness drags me to hell, one comment equals one punch to this virus.


End file.
